


These Boots Weren't Made for Walking

by Leviosally468



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: ...just not out loud, ...really just a lot of fluff, ...thinking about being more than friends?, Banter, Ficlet, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friends To..., Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Idiots in Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:00:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26521054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leviosally468/pseuds/Leviosally468
Summary: “I didn’t want to inconvenience you further...”“You are a walking inconvenience, bard...”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 28
Kudos: 202





	These Boots Weren't Made for Walking

**Author's Note:**

> Just a lil' something I rapped into my phone while backpacking two weekends ago, and doing a lot of walking on The Path

It’s been five days since Geralt left Posada with more than he’d bargained for.

Five days of talking himself in circles. Five days of coming up with as many reasons as possible why allowing Jaskier to travel with him was a bad idea whilst simultaneously finding himself quite unable to say anything at all as eyes of the most handsome crystaline blue, alight with the fire of excitement and adventure and more beautiful than they had any right to be look up at him, effectively erasing any valid evidence he had been building to the contrary. Five days of Jaskier asking endless questions, ninety percent of which he also provided the answers to. Five days of Geralt sharing his food, sharing his bed roll more often than not, (the bard hadn’t actually brought anything along, save his instrument) and sharing more of his personal space with another living, breathing being than he had in as long as he could remember...And Geralt had resigned himself to it...or perhaps he embraced it...no, resigned... _definitely_ resign— _fuck_.

Today is hot, dry and dusty. Even Roach is starting to stumble over loose stones, her head slung low. They’ve been traveling since before sunrise and contrary to his usual routine of riding until nightfall, even Geralt can’t deny the appeal of escaping the heat. He can just make out a village in the distance; can practically smell mugs of cold ale being poured.

Jaskier has also been uncharacteristically quiet for the last couple of miles, and though it’s only been five days, the bard has already demonstrated a shocking predisposition for carrying on entire conversations practically by himself in an annoyingly endless capacity. That, coupled with Geralt’s albeit limited experience with human frailties, particularly concerning the elements, is probably a bad sign.

Geralt decides he had better make sure Jaskier is, in fact, still behind him, so he slows his pace and is about to turn when a scraping of boots and several flowery curses reach his ears.

“Geralt...are we...are we there _yet_?”

A small exhausted sounding groan drifts over his shoulder just as the witcher stops short. Roach follows suit next to him with a soft whicker. Geralt pulls his eyes away from the small village and promising reprieve of an inn in the distance and turns on his heel to see Jaskier, flushed and panting from the heat, sway unsteadily as though his legs haven’t the will to hold him anymore. Dropping Roach’s reins, Geralt is at Jaskier’s side in three easy strides and he slings an arm under his shoulder. It’s sweltering outside and Jaskier’s skin is hot...too hot.

“Jaskier...” Geralt murmurs, searching the bard’s face, “...are you hurt?”

“Gods...yes. _Everywhere_. Absolutely _everything_. Are my feet still there, Geralt?” Jaskier croaks.

He sags against him, and he’s shivering slightly despite the heat as Geralt tugs Jaskier’s arm around his neck and guides him back toward Roach.

Geralt glances down, and Jaskier does, indeed, look as though he might pass out at any moment. His cheeks are flushed red with the heat, his normally soft crop of hair now sticky with dust and sweat, and his eyes; usually bright and playful, are dull and lackluster and seem to have trouble focusing on Geralt’s face. He’s unused to traveling with anyone let alone a human, and he mentally berates himself for not having paid better attention. Perhaps this would be the moment Jaskier gave up traveling with him, and Geralt wouldn’t blame him in the slightest...though the small pang of regret at the thought is certainly strange.

Geralt reaches his free hand into his saddlebag and drags out his water skin, uncorking it with his teeth. There’s not much left and what is there is warm but it’s better than nothing.

“Stay with me Jaskier...drink this...”

Still cradling the bard in one arm, he brings the skin to his lips, parched and chapped from the sun... _damn_. Geralt winces as he tips the water skin and Jaskier drinks gratefully, trickles of liquid escaping out the corners of his mouth, creating wet trails in the thin layer of dust that covers his cheeks and chin.

“Can you ride?” Geralt asks, tucking the canteen back in his bag and guiding the bard in front of him so he’s facing the saddle.

“You told me not to touch Roach.”

“I take it back.” He growls out as Jaskier grips the saddle gingerly and puts one foot in the stirrup. Geralt ducks down, setting his left shoulder into the back of Jaskier’s thigh and with his right palm he cups Jaskier’s ass, preparing to boost him up.

“You know, most people would at least offer to buy me dinner first...” the bard cracks shakily over his shoulder and Geralt can’t help but grin a little as he heaves Jaskier into Roach’s saddle. The smile is immediately wiped off his face as Jaskier puts his weight into the stirrup and cries out in pain. The sound pierces Geralt’s chest like an arrow.

“Neither myself nor these boots were made for this much walking. My _feet_ , Geralt... I think they might _actually_ be on fire...” Jaskier gasps out as he steadies himself on Roach’s back. Geralt promptly swallows the guilty ache rising in his chest and moves to take Roach’s reins.

“If it helps, I don’t see any smoke...” He says, a piss-poor attempt at making light of things, but it’s all he can think to do. Ignoring his mare’s derisive snort, he forces himself to meet Jaskier’s lidded gaze from where he’s making a valiant effort at staying upright. Jaskier’s pained look is rather fixed as he stares back at him.

“You can be a witcher, or a comedian...apparently not both, Geralt.” He says with a weak smile, and Geralt can’t help but return it.

Perhaps he did embrace the bard’s company...a _little_.

*

Jaskier is flopped over in the saddle by the time they reach the inn and Geralt barely gets Roach tied off before the bard slides, cursing and flailing, out of the saddle and into Geralt’s arms, punching the air from his lungs. Blue eyes for days blink apologetically up at him, and the blush on Jaskier’s sun-kissed cheeks deepens. Geralt quirks an eye at him before hoisting Jaskier’s lute and his saddle bags up on one shoulder and supporting the still-cursing bard inside.

Geralt tosses a purse onto the counter that’s probably more than enough for a room, but it’ll also secure them some food and drink, plenty of cool water and no questions asked. The inn keep looks ready to test this last unspoken request, glancing between the barely conscious Jaskier and Geralt but he hefts Geralt’s purse and seems to think better of it.

“We’ve only three single bed rooms left.” The inn keeper says loftily.

“M’not sure I like your tone—” Jaskier starts from where he’s clinging to Geralt’s side.

“We’ll make do.” Geralt growls, cutting Jaskier’s words short and leveling him a dirty look. He tries not to focus on the way Jaskier’s warm fingers are pressed into his hip and wonders, not for the first time what dark magic could have convinced him this traveling companions business was a good idea.

The inn keep leads them down the hall and unlocks a room, with assurances that water, food and ale will be sent along shortly. Geralt lets his bags and Jaskier’s lute slide off his shoulder before helping him to the bed.

“Sweet Melitele, that’s it...I’m never moving again.” Jaskier says with an elated sigh, flopping back onto the mattress. Geralt merely ’hmmm’s and kneels to rummage in his bag, looking for salves and bandages.

“We need to have a look at your—“ A sharp intake of breath and several bitten-off curses cuts him short and he turns to see Jaskier wrestling first with his boot which falls to the floor with a ‘thump’, before peeling off his stocking with a whimper. The sound makes Geralt’s chest ache and he can’t quite explain why.

Geralt rises and pulls up a stool and, ignoring the bard’s protests that he’s _fine_ , draws Jaskier’s foot onto his knee. Geralt glances back where he’s laying propped on his elbows with his bottom lip caught between his teeth, and a worried look on his face, and suddenly a strange surge of affection overtakes the ache.

He turns his attention to Jaskier’s foot; the skin is red, raw, and blistering in several places. Geralt swallows thickly before turning and removing the lid from the jar of salve. Without meeting Jaskier’s eyes, he begins dabbing ointment on his raw skin as gently as possible, ignoring Jaskier’s groans and hisses of protest. For however long had he been ignoring the pain, he seemed intent on making up for it now.

“Ow! Ow, ow, _ow_! Did your witchery trials leave you with two left hands!?” Jaskier all but squeaks, trying and failing to maintain an air of dignity as he squirms in place.

“Flattery will get you nowhere...” Geralt growls, finally chancing a glance at Jaskier’s face; scrunched rather comically in a disgruntled scowl. Geralt fights back a grin. “...Now, hold still.”

They’re silent for a time as Geralt gently bandages Jaskier’s foot before moving on to the next one. Geralt surprises himself by breaking the silence first.

“Why didn’t you say something about this sooner?” Jaskier’s gaze drops to his lap, and he looks suddenly uncomfortable.

“I didn’t want to inconvenience you further...”

“You are a walking inconvenience, bard...” His eyes find Jaskier’s face, and Geralt can’t help but find it a bit endearing, not to mention impressive the way his expression changes suddenly from a sort of sheepish diffidence to shocked indignation. Geralt can feel the shadow of a smile soften the corners of his lips.

“Inconveniences, I can tolerate; stupidity on the other hand...”

Jaskier rolls his eyes, huffing a sigh and Geralt can almost feel any tension leave with it.

“Yes, yes...blah, _blah_ , I think we can both agree this isn’t my proudest moment.” Jaskier levels back at him, cocking his eyebrow at Geralt in a way that makes it somehow more difficult to concentrate on his task of bandaging Jaskier’s feet.

They’re quiet again for several moments. Jaskier lounges back with his arms folded behind his head.

“‘Tolerable inconvenience’...” Jaskier muses casually, grinning up at the ceiling, “...Does that translate anywhere close to ‘friend’ in any of your old Witcher lore?”

“No” Geralt mutters, though his grin widens nonetheless.

Jaskier chuckles softly, “Well, worth a try...”


End file.
